


a stitch of lightning

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 499 words LOL, A little bit cracky, Brevity is not my middle name, Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Fluff, Fluff however? Maybe, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Daenerys’s right eyebrow had raised so high, Sansa had been worried it would fly off of her head completely. Davos cringed, Brienne smirked, and Jon sat there in complete, deadening silence, eyes fixated on the very interesting stonework across the room. (That is to say, a blank wall. She hadn’t gotten around to replacing the tapestries here yet). Predictably, Arya flipped the table.All in all, it had gone better than Sansa had expected.---Day 1: Stone by Stone





	a stitch of lightning

**Author's Note:**

> title from Mary Oliver's poem: "the spirit likes to dress up" bc I'm obsessed with her poems and also like, how was i supposed to turn down _a stitch of lightning_ for a fic with Sansa in it? 
> 
> thanks for reading!! i've been in quite the slump and this helped to shake it off. i feel like i should mention that this was written lickety-split and unbeta'd and so grammar/spelling mistakes are inevitable.

Daenerys’s right eyebrow had raised so high, Sansa had been worried it would fly off of her head completely. Davos cringed, Brienne smirked, and Jon sat there in complete, deadening silence, eyes fixated on the very interesting stonework across the room. (That is to say, a blank wall. She hadn’t gotten around to replacing the tapestries here yet). Predictably, Arya flipped the table. 

All in all, it had gone better than Sansa had expected. 

Proposing marriage was the sensible thing, even if they all refused to see it. Love was one thing, lust yet another, but if they wanted to unite the North and South and prepare to take on the army of the dead with a solid alliance… honestly. It was as if she was the only one with any sort of sense. 

“Right, then,” she said, standing and delicately making her way around the tipped table (Brienne had looked both horrified and impressed at Arya’s brute strength and Sansa could just _see_ her re-working their training regimen in her head). “When you come to your senses, let me know.” 

Sure, it had been directed towards the group, but by the way Jon cringed dramatically, he knew it was intended mostly for him. (And he would be correct). 

He found her on the ramparts, looking as if she was entirely made of ice and simultaneously, somehow, like the vulnerable little girl she had never let him see. Her Tully blue eyes cut to him, and she offered an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry, Jon.” 

“For what?”

“I know I’m not the one you want-“ she held up a hand to stop his protests, leaving his words hanging off the tip of his tongue. “But it makes sense, you see that, don’t you?” 

Jon shrugged. “Tyrion told me you’re much cleverer than you look.” A wry grin transformed his face from somber to playful, as he whispered conspiratorially, “And you look awful clever.” 

Sansa couldn’t help it - the pink that spread across her cheekbones was not due entirely to the cold. He stood next to her, offering a hand and smiling when her fingertips intertwined with his. 

“Do you think we’d be good together?” He didn’t know how to tell her he’d thought of nothing else since seeing her at Castle Black - dying horse, grey dress, face like a ghost. He’d been haunted by her ever since. 

“We already are,” she said, leaning into him slightly. “But I thought we could build a life together, a love together, like Mother and Father did - stone by stone.” 

Jon kissed her temple, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “I thought we’d already started.” This time, the blush on her face was unmistakable. She remembered a kiss that tasted like mead in the early hours, desperate hands, a darkness in his eyes that promised more and more. 

“Jon!” she said, chidingly, even as she leaned into him. 

“Sansa,” he murmured before kissing her properly, saying yes to her in every way.


End file.
